As Yet Untitled
by FurryGenesis
Summary: The Archdemon’s destruction makes way for Theron, our Grey Warden, to finally try to pursue the love of his life, Zevran. However, when Zevran learns of Morrigan’s ritual, and Theron’s participation, shock sets in. What will happen next is anyone’s guess.
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1**_

It had been about two weeks since the destruction of the Archdemon at the top of Fort Drakon. Theron Mahariel, a Dalish elf who had found himself a member of the Grey Wardens after the death of one of his dearest friends, had been chosen by King Alistair to serve as his Military Commander, just as Alistair had requested right after the Landsmeet.

While Theron was more than happy to continue assisting his friend, and he did feel duty-charged to aid in Ferelden's defense, the process of actually taking the position had proven less hospitable than even the most darkspawn-filled wilds. The process of vetting anyone who served the people in such a significant way meant that Theron had spent the greater majority of the last seven days buried in committees and meetings, talking to nobles from the furthest reaches of Ferelden, and even some from Orlais, all seeking to verify his ability.

Many, if not all, of the people knew what Theron was capable of, however. He had slaughtered the Archdemon and had survived – thanks to Morrigan's ritual. That horrible, disgusting ritual. While Theron had despised both the act and the woman herself – Morrigan had long ago proven that her lack of scruples was far more significant than her physical beauty – what upset the small-framed elf the most was that he had been forced to be with someone other than his beloved – Zevran – in order that they might be able to spend their lives together in happiness.

It weighed on Theron heavily, as he sat on a small dais that had been erected in the stone courtyard in front of the palace on this day, so that the public could ask questions of their new military commander. He was barely listening to the questions they asked him, and was answering as briefly as etiquette allowed. Nobody seemed to notice, however, that he was snubbing them in favor of his own thoughts.

"You may proceed, milady," Theron heard the guard standing at the entry to the dais, which had been roped off except for one spot, wide enough for one person to pass.

The women had been the worst. While his companions were aware of the intimacies that Theron shared with his fellow elf, the public was not, and he had no inclination to tell them either. He sighed and lifted his head a bit, deciding he would at least try to pretend to be civil – until the woman dropped on her knees before him, her hands raking at the armor covering his knees.

"Oh, my lord! I am so honored to speak with you," the woman, probably in her mid-20's, with long flaxen hair and a deep, almost amber complexion, stated. "You have saved us all from the horde, from the Blight, and we owe you our lives."

Theron was about to wave his hand to dismiss the woman, when suddenly her hands began wandering up his legs. The look of alarm on his face, as bright as it was, didn't get anyone's attention. "I want to thank you, my lord, however, I can, for your service," she proclaimed.

"I am not interested, milady," the elf said, his voice tense but polite, civil. "You need to remove your hands from me at once."

There was no stopping the woman, however, and she blatantly pressed her palm and fingers against the cod-piece covering Theron's groin. The roar of frustration he released was audible, as he kicked his weight back; knocking aside the chair he was sitting on and nearly stumbling to the dais himself, except for a last-minute kick of his feet, boots clicking firmly against the wood.

"I asked you to keep your hands from me," Theron repeated, all politeness gone from his voice, nearly growling in his tone. With a wave of his hands that dismissed not just the woman, but the entire assembled crowd waiting to speak to him, the elf turned rapidly and vaulted himself over the dais' border, onto the ground behind it, and stalked back toward the castle.

Several minutes later, the frustrated Grey Warden found himself slamming shut the door to his guest quarters inside the castle, angrily storming to the window to glare at the crowd below, as if his vision alone might be their undoing. Alas, he failed, eventually shutting the shutter on the window, dropping rather unceremoniously onto the desk beneath it.

"You know, I realize you're pretty light, but with all that armor, you could still break the desk," Alistair said as he warily opened the door, unsure what was going on and not wanting to have something thrown at him.

Theron's response to the normally welcome joke was to simply glare at Alistair angrily. He remained silent for several long seconds, before his shoulders slumped and he looked away, slightly chagrined. "I didn't expect all this, when you asked me to serve as your Commander. These people…," Theron trailed off, motioning out the window. "They hated us for so long, when Loghain was in power…and now it's like I'm supposed to forget all that."

Alistair simply nodded. He took a few steps into the room, closing the door much more softly than it had been previously. "I know it's hard. But, I also know how compassionate you are. I saw it, when you helped that little boy in Lothering, and many other times on our journey," Alistair responded, his voice taking on that softness that it often did when speaking of Duncan.

The elf just shook his head, sighing, as he dropped his chin into his hands. "I try to be, but I was rather heartily molested just a few minutes ago, by a young woman who, while beautiful, is hardly what I'm after," he said, his voice quiet as he turned back to meet his friend's eyes.

"Ah…," Alistair trailed off, a lack of surety seeping into his tone which made it clear he wasn't quite sure what to say. Theron steeled himself for the inevitable joke to follow, and was not disappointed. "Well, you know, it could be worse. Zevran could have succeeded and killed you instead of falling in love with you," the blonde-haired king said.

Despite his mood, Theron couldn't help but chuckle. "You wouldn't have let that happen," the elf joked back, one corner of his mouth lifting in an almost imperceptible smirk. "But, I do really need to spend time with Zevran. I tried…," and then the dark-haired elf trailed off, blushing slightly. "I'm sorry; you don't want to hear about this, I'm sure."

"And why not?" Alistair responded, incredulous, "I had to listen to you two romping around in your tent enough when we were under constant threat by the darkspawn. How is talking about it like this any different?"

Theron laughed, though there was a cold edge to it that seemed almost forced. "Maybe you're right, Alistair. I just…I don't know if Zevran can deal with this. He's cut me off now. I don't know why. He doesn't want to be intimate, but at the same time, he gave me this…," the elf said, holding open his palm, in which laid an intricate earring, a gift from his lover.

Alistair's surprise was written on his face. "Well, that seems like a token of affection to me, you would think….wouldn't you?"

The elf shrugged, pulling himself up to his feet and walking slowly over toward his bed. He gripped the armor that was clinging to his chest, hooking his fingers under the plate, and slowly began to lift it off over his head, revealing the very simply cloth shirt underneath, protecting his pale skin from its harshness. He sighed, happy to be relieved of the weight, before reaching down to begin removing the lower part of the armor.

"I thought so, but Zevran seems confused. Maybe he's just feeling things he hasn't felt before. That's what I'm hoping for, anyway," Theron said, his gaze detached and focusing on the fire in the fireplace as he continued disrobing, left in just his shorts and the cloth shirt now.

"I don't imagine he's had much opportunity to be forthright with his feelings, Theron. You really ought to give him a chance," the king responded, his voice wavering just slightly, in a tone that implied he might have responded with something more humorous, if it were his first choice.

Wandering toward the small chest at the foot of his bed, the elf pulled it open slowly, gazing over the formal garments that had been placed within. The uniform of a military commander was almost stuffier than the armor that he wore, but it was what was required of his new title. It almost made him wish to be back amongst his people, in the lands they'd been awarded by King Alistair…but alas, that was not his fate. He had to be here, to be there for his friend, Alistair, and for his lover, Zevran, as he had promised.

As Theron began to dress, pulling on the velvet and silk outfit of a deep crimson shade, mixed with an ebony the darkness of which he'd rarely seen in fabrics, he finally turned back to face Alistair. "I'm trying, Alistair. Maybe I'm just a bit too much a romantic for him," the elf offered, chuckling weakly.

"Truer words were never spoken," Alistair responded, laughing back toward his friend. "Though, I think he is coming around a bit. That gift and his new-found hesitation would seem to make it obvious."

"Unless, of course," Theron said, pausing for effect, "he's decided he'd rather spend his life with women instead of with me." Though the comment had been intended as sarcasm, it brought a frown to the elf's handsome features, and he lolled his head on his shoulders, slumping again. "I shouldn't have said that."

Alistair still smirked – the type of smirk that sometimes pissed Theron off, because it felt so wrong – as he responded to Theron's self-deprecation. "That attitude doesn't suit you. You know you're worthy of any man or woman in all of Ferelden. I have no doubt of that, and neither should you."

Though he was very nearly tempted to stick out his tongue, Theron didn't. "I am not saying I'm not. I'm just saying, we all have preferences. Maybe Zevran has determined his lie elsewhere," he replied.

"I doubt that very much," Alistair said. Before his elven friend could contemplate that any further, however, he turned and began walking for the door. "I will leave you to dress for dinner, and I will see you there. I thought it would be nice if we could all sit and catch up over the last couple of weeks, so I asked everyone to join us. I hope that's alright?"

Theron nodded and smiled. He had not seen Wynne for over a week, since she'd been helping with the recovery of the elves in the Alienage, many of whom were planning to exodus south to the new Dales. Sten had chosen to remain in Denerim as well, serving as a local qunari representative, choosing to encourage other qunari to interact more with humans, and to learn from them as he had. Needless to say, that choice had shocked the hell out of everyone else in the group.

"I will see you there, then," Theron responded, turning from the door as Alistair departed, leaving Theron to dress and prepare for dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

At Alistair's insistence, meals at the Royal Palace had become a far less formal affair than what everyone was used to. He had insisted that those on the staff eat with him instead of after him, and at the same table. It had shaken the nobles up quite a bit, but when Alistair had invited them to leave the court altogether if they objected, they had rather quickly silenced themselves.

As Theron walked into the large dining chamber in the palace, he sighed – Zevran was already present, seated near Alistair at the head of the table. Just knowing Zev was close made Theron feel more comfortable, and he couldn't resist increasing his pace as he moved across the room.

"There you are," Alistair said, his voice bright with some sort of undertone Theron didn't immediately place, until he noticed Zevran's expression. It was entirely emotionless, unusual for the other elf. "Nice of you to finally join us."

Theron was immediately put off by the expression, but slipped onto the bench seat beside Zevran, trying to catch his eye. The assassin, however, turned to look away from him. With a frown, Theron turned to Alistair. "Yes, well, if you didn't make me wear such a ridiculous uniform, I wouldn't take so long, now would I?" the elf retorted, trying to laugh, but it sounded hollow.

Alistair's only response, however, was an indignant snort and a compassionate, almost sympathetic smile. The elven Warden shot his friend a look that begged for further explanation, but all Alistair could do was shrug in return.

Dinner was a far more silent affair than anyone in the castle was used to. Except for Alistair attempting to occasionally interject jokes that nobody really responded to, and despite the welcome presence of Wynne and others who hadn't been seen for nearly a week, the air's tension was felt by all. Everyone ate relatively quickly, and Zevran was the first to dismiss himself from the table.

As soon as Zevran left the room, Theron shot both Alistair and Wynne a gaze, and received nothing but shrugs in response. Practically leaping from his seat, the elf chased after his beloved, catching him two hallways away, very near the bottom of the stairs to the guest quarters. "Love, what's wrong?" he asked, reaching out for Zev's shoulder.

The response he got nearly broke his heart: Zev pulled away from his outreached hand, spinning around to face him. His voice was tense, but extremely quiet. "I don't want to talk about it right now," was the cold, detached response. Zev almost sounded like a Tranquil.

That sound frightened Theron, and he shook his head. "If something's wrong, Zev, I want to know about..," but he was cut off.

"You will find out...when I'm ready to talk about it. Come see me tonight, before bed. For now, though, I do not want to talk to you," the light-haired elf responded, and before Theron could say anything more, his lover turned and walked quickly up the staircase.

Crestfallen, Theron's shoulders slumped. It was only as he turned from the doorway that he noticed Wynne and Alistair standing there. He looked up at them both, his eyes narrowed in concern and frustration. "Does either of you know why he is so upset?"

Alistair shook his head, but Wynne looked away, and Theron knew immediately she knew something. He took several steps toward her, and his expression was almost pleading. "Please, Wynne, tell me what is wrong? Did he talk to you about it?"

Wynne shook her head, but lifted her eyes to speak. "He did not speak with me, but in my comings and goings over the past week, I have become aware of what might be the cause for his concern," she said, her voice guarded.

Theron stood there, his gaze expectant, before he rolled his right forefinger in a gesture for her to get on with it, his patience wearing thin.

"He knows that you slept with Morrigan," she said frankly, her tone flat.

The brunette elf's eyes went wide, but the rest of his face contorted in confusion. "Okay, so, he found out…I did it to save my life, so that we could be together. Doesn't he understand that?"

There was that compassionate gaze from Alistair again, one mirrored on Wynne's face now, and Theron felt the sudden urge to slap them both. "Perhaps, I do not know what details he is aware of," Wynne clarified. "However, I imagine that, since you have spoken to him of love and commitment almost since you first met him, he finds this…confusing."

"You have to admit, man," Alistair said, reaching toward Theron's shoulder to attempt to comfort him, until the elf's burning eyes caused him to rather abashedly drop his hand back to his side, "it would be a little disconcerting. I mean…sleeping with someone else, when you love him? That would certainly confuse me, if I were in his place."

Theron balked a bit, and spun around, glaring into the fire on the other side of the hallway, his back arching and shoulders tensing. "I did it so I could be with him, and so that he wouldn't have to go on alone, without me," Theron said, his normally confident tone wavering slightly under the emotions battling within him. "I did what I felt was right."

"I think he's just confused, my dear," Wynne said, taking a step toward Theron. "It does not seem that his heart has known love before you, or if it has, it was traumatic for him. This is something that he will have to come to terms with. If he truly loves you, then he will."

Theron was about to spin around again and blast Wynne for her attempts at consoling him, but Alistair opened his mouth first. "Though, you know, he always talked about being a whore and sleeping with anyone, and he flirted with so many people on our journey. I'm not really sure he has much room to lecture you about fidelity," the king said, his tone lighter than the words he spoke.

"That's not the point," Wynne interjected, once again cutting off Theron from speaking. "The point is that he may be feeling betrayed," she said, turning to walk past the elf's turned back, then shifting around to face him. "You have told Zev that you love him and only him, haven't you? Before now, I mean?" she asked.

Theron could only nod. He couldn't understand how Zev, after all his banter about being such a free spirit, finding pleasure where it could be found, could be upset over this.

"And you have spoken with him of being true to one another, and only being with one another?" she asked. Theron nodded again.

Wynne nodded, her expression turning thoughtful as she looked over into the fire. "Yes, well, learning of this, especially from someone other than you, would seem to contradict all you have told him, doesn't it? That may explain the pain he is feeling right now, and why he's struggling so much to understand what would motivate you to break those words."

"You mean you two were planning on just being with one another…like, getting married?" Alistair asked, surprised. Both Theron and Wynne simply ignored him, both staring off contemplatively.

It was several long minutes before anyone spoke again, and Theron nodded to himself. "He asked me to come speak with him tonight, after he had some time to think. I think that is the best I can do for him, right now. I just hope he will listen to what I have to say," the elf said softly.

"I am sure he will, my dear," Wynne said, curling one corner of her mouth into a slight smile, before she turned and walked from the room, back toward the dining hall.

Alistair then stepped forward, finally reaching out and grasping both of Theron's shoulders. It caused the shorter elf to look up into his friend's eyes, and Theron saw the humor that so personified Alistair, blending with compassion. "You know I am here for you, Theron. I want you to be happy, and I hope you can work this out with Zev…slimy little assassin that he is," the king said.

Theron wanted to laugh. He even managed a very slight smirk, but there was no sound in it, and no true happiness. He was perturbed and feeling regret over not telling Zev himself. He tried to imagine how he would feel, in Zev's place, and pain stabbed through his heart. With a sigh of resignation, the elf dropped his head sadly, shaking it. "I understand why he is hurt," Theron whispered.

"So do I," Alistair said, "but I know why you did it. I know what was at stake if you hadn't." Alistair gently squeezed Theron's shoulders, a comforting gesture, and spoke again. "It was a small price to pay, to keep you with us."

Without another word, Alistair let his hands return to their place at his sides, the metal of his armor clinking together combining with the crackling of the nearby fire, causing a shiver of discomfort to run down Theron's spine. When he lifted his head to speak with Alistair again, he found his friend was gone, having left him to his own contemplations.

There was nothing to do or say now, until he was able to speak to Zevran. With a stifled, frustrated sigh, the Grey Warden turned and walked toward the castle's exit, willing himself to return to his elven nature and get lost in the beauty of the gardens until his beloved might be ready to speak with him again.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

Walking the gardens had been far less comforting for Theron than he had expected. Even though he'd only been apart from his clan for a few months, the time he had spent in Denerim and wandering around Ferelden to destroy the darkspawn had affected him deeply, and he already felt his deep connection to nature threatening to pull away from him. It only added to his sadness as he wandered through the Palace's gardens, finally deciding to settle upon a solid stone bench that was far enough from the castle that he expected nobody would find him.

However, the elven commander was not as lucky as he had hoped – within only a few minutes of sitting and staring up the stars, tracing the constellations in his mind that Leliana had told him about during their many campfire discussions, he was interrupted. "Do you mind if I join you?" asked Leliana, peaking her head around a nearby shrub that was taller than she was.

Theron had to bite back the urge to tell her to go away. His jaw tensed, shifting back and forth, his teeth grinding slightly, before he finally shrugged and dropped his head, motioning to the space on the bench beside him. He ignored her as he went back to gazing at the stars.

"I…," Leliana's voice rang out, echoing off the solid stone that surrounded them – the bench, the path, the fountains that made up the center of the garden, which was not far away. The uncomfortable pause caused Theron to finally drop his gaze and turn to face her, and she gave a weak smile. "I'm not sure what's going on right now, Theron. I've come to trust you, and I hope you trust me, but everyone seems to be on edge, and I have no idea why."

The elf shrugged again, but this time, his gaze dropped to the floor. He cupped his hands around the front edge of the bench, tensing his arms to lift himself off the seat just slightly, allowing his legs to swing freely back and forth, kicking at a stone that rested between two of the rocks which made up the path. Upon impact, the stone went skittering across the path and into the hedges on its opposite side.

"If you don't want to talk about…," Leliana began, but she was cut off.

"I need to talk about it," Theron interjected, though his voice clenched with hesitation. "I didn't expect anyone would find out. I really didn't want anyone to know. But, when you have a group as small as ours was, during the worst of the fighting…," the elf trailed off, emitting a deep, resigned sigh. "Do you know why Grey Wardens are the only ones who can defeat a Blight?"

Leliana furrowed her brow just slightly, reaching up to stroke her crimson locks from in front of her eyes. Her face shone in the moonlight, and it made her skin take on the brushed appearance of a piece of artwork. Theron smiled a little as that thought occurred to him, and his companion shook her head. "I have heard many rumors regarding this," she admitted, "but, you and I have spoken much of what faith to put in such things. I always thought you would tell me, if I needed to know."

Theron could only nod in response to that. Leliana was an intelligent woman, if not a bit distracted at times, and as they journeyed, she often seemed to take Theron's word as law. "When we go through the Joining, we are required to consume darkspawn blood. It allows us to…," Theron was about to continue, but the shocked look on Leliana's face made him pause.

"You…actually drink their blood?" she asked, her expression one of abject horror. Theron nodded, opening both palms, face up, in a supplicating gesture. He gave her a few moments to collect herself. "I'm sorry. I just…wasn't expecting that," she responded, once the shock had left her.

"It's alright," Theron replied, turning to look over at two night birds which had chosen to settle atop the bushes on the other side of the walk. He watched them idly pecking at one another, and tilted his head thoughtfully as he contemplated them. "It allows us to detect the darkspawn, and to master the taint. However, it also restricts us. They are able to detect us as well."

Leliana interjected before Theron could continue. "I can see how that ability would be useful, but it doesn't seem crucial to success against them," she remarked. It was a more strategic comment than he'd become used to from her, but he nodded agreement.

"No, there's more to it than that," he said, settling back on the bench again, his feet stilling as he spoke. "When an Archdemon is slain, its essence will travel to the nearest available darkspawn, and it will be born again, just as powerful as before. If a Grey Warden slays it, however…," he trailed off for a moment, turning away from the birds to meet Leliana's glowing eyes, "…then the Archdemon's essence passes to that Warden, and the conflict between the Warden's soul and the Archdemon's essence causes both to be annihilated."

There was almost a visible sound to the movement of Leliana's lips and jaw when they fell open yet again in surprise. She was stunned. While she had figured that Grey Wardens were given special training or had unique abilities relating to darkspawn, she had never in all their travels imagined that they were sacrificial lambs to be laid before the Archdemon in order that everyone else might survive. "I'm…so sorry…," she said, without thinking.

Theron just chuckled a little, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "Why? I'm still here, and the Archdemon is dead. He won't be returning," the brunette elf said, reaching up and running his left hand through his hair, feeling it against his skin, before turning back to eye the path before them.

"Yes, that is true…," Leliana said, her words coming at a slow, measured pace, as if she seemed to be rolling over thoughts in her mind. It took only a moment or two, but soon enough, her head lifted and the realization struck her. "Then how is it that you yet live? I saw you slay the demon myself. I was with you, on the top of that tower."

The elf just shrugged a bit, unsure he was comfortable discussing this with Leliana. He trusted her, considered her a friend, but he hadn't even been willing to tell his lover if it could be helped. However, he knew nothing more painful than Zevran's hurt could come from the ritual's aftermath, so he chose to tell the truth. "The night before that battle, Morrigan came to me in my chamber. She…had a ritual, one that would allow me to survive, to live, and to be with Zevran…but at a high price."

Leliana's intrigue was written on her face like a street sign, and she leaned in closer, almost conspiratorially. "What did you have to do?" she asked, curiosity dripping from her words.

Theron balked as he involuntarily relived the memories of Morrigan's touch – cold, almost as if she were dead, entirely detached, like the act of lovemaking was simply work to her, a means to an end, and it sent a shiver down his spine, which Leliana noticed, causing her to back away just slightly. "I had to sleep with her; to conceive a child with her. The essence of the Old God was cleansed of the taint from being slain, and transferred itself into the unborn child. That, I'm afraid, is why Morrigan left so quickly after the battle ended, and why I doubt we will ever hear from her again."

There was none of the disdain that the elf had been expecting, when he finally lifted his eyes to meet Leliana's gaze. What he saw there instead was a deep, almost overwhelming, compassion, and he couldn't help but smile just slightly – it was what he had come to know her for, despite her past, as they'd traveled together, and it made him feel just a little better, in that moment.

"I can imagine how hard that would be for you," she said, shivering herself at the thought. "While Morrigan often taunted me for my interest in her, I have to admit to being very curious about what it would be like…," the bard trailed off as she noticed Theron's disgusted expression. "Okay, okay, I won't ask. So, I can understand all that, but you're alive now, and obviously in good shape. You're not going to die, and Zevran and you can spend your lives together. What is everyone so upset over?"

There was nothing that could stop the small chuckle that Theron emitted at that. Despite all her worldly skills, Leliana sometimes had a unique innocence about her. Or, perhaps in truth, it was just that, like he, there was no reason to suspect Zevran would ever experience jealousy. It had shocked the elf too. "Zevran found out, and…I guess, after talking to him about love and about being together, only for one another, for so long, he is conflicted by hearing that I've now slept with someone else."

"But you did it to save your life, so you could be with him!" Leliana nearly shouted, the sound echoing out over the gardens. Theron's eyes went wide, and he made a motion downward with an open palm, indicating for her to be more quiet. "Sorry!" she nearly yelped out, "But really, Theron. You did it for him. Doesn't he see that?" she inquired.

The elf shrugged, still meeting her eyes now, comfortable and seemingly happier since the weight was off his chest, and yet another friend knew and was not upset with him for his choices. "I do not know. Wynne thinks he's just shocked and surprised, more than jealous. I, personally, don't really know what to think. Zevran does want to talk to me later, though, before bed. I'm hoping I can get some answers then," Theron whispered, his voice dropping.

Leliana sat back, resting her hands on her thighs and quirking her mouth to one side as she seemed to contemplate the situation. "I have to say, thinking of Zevran as jealous just…doesn't seem like him. I agree with Wynne. I think he's just shocked by it."

"Well, that may be so, because I know he's only been in love with one other person his entire life, and he was forced to kill her. Maybe he thinks I was lying to him, about everything…," Theron cut himself off before he could let that thought fester any further in his head.

Leliana patted her friend's shoulder as she pulled herself to her feet. "You need to talk to him. You will do nobody any good, continuing to guess what he might be feeling right now," she said, a wicked smirk curling up one corner of his mouth. "Go, talk to him. It's nearly bedtime now. And I expect to hear all about it in the morning," she said. Without another word, the beautiful bard was gone, having disappeared in the general direction from which she came.

When he finally looked up and noticed the position of the moon above the horizon, a mild sense of alarm set itself in Theron's gut. Leliana was right, it was very near bedtime, he'd wasted most of the evening in the garden. With a shake of his head, the elf pulled himself to his feet, and quickly began moving back toward the castle. He needed to talk to Zevran, to listen, and to do his best to make sure Zevran knew how loved he truly was.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

The discussions with Wynne, Alistair and Leliana notwithstanding, Theron was nervous as he tugged open the large exterior door of the castle, finally allowing himself to slip inside and shutting it behind him. The servants were going about their business, keeping the house tidy and making sure that King Alistair and his court wanted for nothing. Normally, the elf would take comfort from their presence, but now they only seemed like observers, watching as he walked toward fate.

However, the Grey Warden was never one to allow his fears to monopolize him. He had managed to slay an Archdemon and live to tell about it, so he certainly wasn't going to allow Zevran's possible outrage over his actions to turn him away now. With a renewed sense of purpose, he let out toward the stairs, heading up them two at a time to find his way into the guest quarters.

The sound of his boots clicking along the stone floors must have alerted Zevran to his presence, because by the time he got to the second floor and was approaching their shared bedroom, the door was already pulled open, and Zevran was standing in it, his eyes narrowed slightly.

The darker-haired elf tried to fight off the urge to gulp in nervousness as he approached, lowering his voice instinctively as he leaned against the door frame. "It's nice to see you," he whispered softly, his voice barely carrying far enough for even his lover to hear it.

Zevran frowned, and the resulting crease in his brow made his face look haggard. "Come in," the assassin said, however, without any further prompting. He pulled the door open, slipping away from it and into the room. He then retreated to the large four-poster bed, setting himself down on it gingerly. The mattress didn't even squeak from the movement. Needless to say, Zevran was used to carrying himself lightly, and it was ingrained in him as much as breathing.

Theron, however, was hardly so comfortably. Because of Zevran's emotions, and the look on his face, he hesitated to move close to his lover. His eyes wandered the room for several moments, before he settled on walking over and standing in front of where Zev was sitting, letting both arms pull forward just a bit, as if reaching for his partner's hands.

"I…," Zev started, noticing the gesture. "I don't want the physical affection right now, Theron," the elf said, his thick accent slightly choked at the words. "I'm too confused right now for that."

"Confused?" was the immediate question Theron asked, expressed aloud. He hunkered down a bit, letting his knees bend so that his face was positioned below Zevran's, so he could look up into the other elf's eyes. "What are you confused about?"

"I know about Morrigan," the flaxen-haired, slightly shorter elf said flatly, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "I know that you slept with her." Theron opened his mouth to object, but Zevran raised a hand to silence him, and continued. "And I know why you did it, as well. I know you would have died, had you not participated in her ritual."

Lowering himself to the floor fully now, Theron crossed his legs in front of him, leaning forward so that he could get as close to Zev as possible without actually touching. He never let his eyes sink from the other male's, not even for a second. "And is that why you're upset with me?" Theron inquired.

Zevran nodded. "I'm not sure I'm upset, to be quite honest. All throughout our journey, you listened to me flirt with almost everyone, and several times I said rather…crude things, to some of those we met in our travels," the assassin began. "But, I never acted on any of those things. When you spoke to me of love, and of being together…yes, at first, I thought myself incapable of such things. But…maybe, for you, I can change, and I can...believe in 'love,' as you say."

There was almost a visible uplifting in Theron's heart at those words. However, Zevran wasn't finished, and what he had to say next caused the darker elf's heart to sink. "But what you did, even to save your own life, conflicts with everything that you told me. You shook off everyone else who wanted you – Leliana, and even Oghren, so that you would be only with me…and now, I find out, you slept with Morrigan. You had never even shown any interest in her, while we were traveling."

"It's because I am not interested in her, nor was I ever, Zevran," Theron said, his voice tinged with icy defensiveness. "I only did what was necessary to make sure that I could be here for you, to love you."

The response from the other elf to Theron's words was an expression which mixed many emotions, most of which seemed almost entirely alien on his face. "I imagined as much, and I know that you would have chosen another option, had it been available. In our time together, I have not known you to fear death, so I can only presume that you had some other reason to want to be alive, other than your own preservation. However, you preached to me constantly about the loyalty you had to me. Do you understand why I feel this conflicts with what you have said in the past?"

Theron sighed. He felt like the conversation could easily begin going in circles. However, he did realize that Zev had a point, and he nodded. "Yes, my love. I understand why you feel that conflict. But please know that not only is Morrigan gone, never to be heard from again, but I have no interest in her. I want to spend my life with you, here, surrounded by our friends."

Zevran pulled himself to his feet, and moved past Theron to walk over toward the fire. It lit his face aglow with a fire that matched the feelings warring in his heart. He truly did want to believe Theron, and he knew in his heart already that what he had been told was true. However, he had never opened himself to anyone before, except for one, and that situation had ended in tragedy. Zevran had begun to truly believe that putting it all on the line was worth it, to be with the Hero, but chaos conflicted him, and the clash of words to actions brewed a battle deep in his soul.

Theron watched from a distance, unsure how to respond. His lips pursed, eyes narrowed, and he contemplated Zevran, standing by the fire, before pulling himself to his feet. "Is there anything I can do, my beloved, to show you what you mean to me? To show you that Morrigan was just a means to an end?" he asked hopefully.

The words stung at Zevran, for reasons he didn't understand. He spun around, his jaw tightening visibly, as he spoke in a hushed, yet brutally threatening, tone. "You could have told me about this yourself, instead of letting me learn about it from someone else."

And that, Theron realized, was the crux of it. Zevran wasn't really upset over the infidelity, as it were, at all. It was the fact that he had learned of this relationship from someone other than Theron that was the problem. His eyes fell toward the floor, and he shuffled his feet rather nervously. "I wanted to tell you. But…I didn't even tell Alistair. He figured it out on his own. And I don't know how everyone else found out. I was only going to tell you…but…I was afraid you would think me a coward."

Zevran shook his head, though his face softened slightly. "You know me well enough to know that I do not think that of you, nor could I ever. Throughout all the time I have known you, since I tried to kill you in that valley; you have faced down evils the average person will never know." The assassin's heart began to race, his chest pounding in his ears as he took several steps, closing the distance between himself and the other male rapidly.

"I only found out that one of us had to die the night before the battle against the Archdemon. I always knew that death was a possibility, but I also knew that it was my own ability that would keep me from dying; that, and the abilities of my friends, of you, and Alistair, and Wynne. That is why it was so easy to remain strong. However, after I found out…knew that death was certain, for one of us, and knowing that I couldn't let Alistair make that sacrifice….," Theron's voice disappeared in the crackling of the fire, his eyes filling with moisture as he turned away from Zevran.

Despite the fact that his beloved was obviously upset, and doubting himself in a way Zevran had never witnessed before, he couldn't find himself sympathetic. In fact, the emotional outburst frustrated him further. "You are not a coward, and I refuse to believe you would think such things," the assassin replied, his voice terse, though it never became more than a whisper. He reached out, gripping Theron's shoulder firmly enough to spin his elven lover to face him.

When Theron lifted his eyes, clouded with emotion, he fought off a whimper. His cheeks remained dry, just barely, and he felt anger with himself for showing this weakness. He suddenly found himself wondering how Alistair had felt, being so upset after Duncan's death, in tears, as he very nearly was now, and he felt a newfound compassion for his friend. "I did what had to be done, to save Ferelden, and to save myself, for you," he said, lifting his chin defiantly to meet Zev's eyes.

"Yes, you did," Zevran responded. The emotion was gone from his voice now, positive or negative, and all that remained was his accent. "And I do believe that you feel you did what was best. However, I still have to decide if I'm willing to continue with this, knowing that you didn't bring this to me yourself."

Theron simply nodded. "Do you wish me to sleep elsewhere tonight, my love?" he asked. They had been sharing a room since Alistair had insisted they remain in the palace indefinitely. Though they had both wanted to stay in Denerim, neither ever imagined residing in the castle – especially not for weeks. However, Alistair had insisted, and Theron was too happy in the King's company to refuse him.

"I think that would be best," Zevran replied. The assassin allowed his fingers to flex, squeezing Theron's shoulder for a moment, before releasing it. He turned away again, walking over to the bed once more, and resting himself on its edge. "I promise that I will not make you wait long, before I decide how to proceed, Theron."

That dismissal was almost more painful than Theron had ever imagined it might be. He'd always figured it would come because Zevran was not interested in commitment, not because Theron had violated it. That sensation seemed almost alien to the elf, but he simply nodded and turned, walking from the room rather hurriedly. Once the door shut behind him, he moved promptly down the hall, eyes down.

It was because of his inattention to where he was going that, halfway to the common quarters on the opposite side of the castle, as he passed through the royal chambers, that Theron ran head-on into Alistair, knocking them both to the ground in a jumble of arms and legs. "What the…," Alistair yelped out, pain stabbing up his leg as it twisted the wrong way, in what would inevitably be a sprained ankle.

Theron was about to bark out an apology and pull himself to his feet, practically running off to find somewhere to sleep, when he heard Alistair's voice. His ears bristled a little, that soft-spoken tone always able to garner his attention quickly. He moved a small bit away from Alistair, pulling his knees up and resting his chin on them, just looking over at Alistair in his bedclothes, in a heap. "I'm sorry, Alistair," he whispered softly.

"Oh, well, it's you!" Alistair said, his voice cheery and obviously happy to see his friend. He was still facing away from Theron, so he couldn't see his friend's expression. "Hey, you're not running off to the larder to find something to use to…well, you know…," the King said, chuckling to himself as he finally turned around, having somewhat righted himself.

In the instant that Alistair took in Theron's expression, he knew something was terribly wrong. He immediately moved close to his friend, shifting to sit beside him. "What happened, Ther?" Alistair asked. Some time during the course of their time together, the other Grey Warden had taken to shortening the elf's name. It was a gesture of affection and friendship, and it didn't bother Theron in the least.

Though he was tempted to shrug it off and simply disappear, Theron was intuitive enough about his own emotions to know that he needed someone to talk to. He certainly wouldn't be able to sleep, while Zevran was 'deciding his fate.' "Zevran and I talked," he said, his voice far more meek than he'd ever heard it, so much so that it sounded strange in his own ears. "He says he needs to decide if he can trust me, since I didn't tell him about Morrigan myself."

"Yeah, how did he find out about that, anyway? I practically had to put my ear to the door to…," Alistair began, with what he had hoped would be a joke that would cheer Theron up. When he simply got a dismissive, distant look from his companion, however, he realized that his normal comforting wouldn't do. With a slight nod of affirmation, he proceeded to snake an arm around Theron's shoulders, pulling his friend against him, and a bit closer to the fire that warmed the hallway. "I'm sorry. I know you were trying to keep this all private, so you wouldn't have to tell anyone. Do you know how he found out?"

Theron could only shake his head. "No, but it's not really relevant. Everyone is aware of it now, so there's no use investigating to find out who said what. I'm just worried Zevran will decide that he cannot trust me, and then, what will happen?" the elf asked, turning to gaze into his friend's eyes, hoping for an answer he could believe in.

"Well, I presume you don't want me to beat the hell out of the slimy brat if he does pick that option?" Alistair said, his chest puffing out visibly as his protective nature kicked in. Theron let out a small chuckle, though the lifting at the corners of his mouth didn't reach his eyes. "Honestly, this doesn't suit you, Theron. I know you're more sensitive than most people. It's one of the things I admire about you. But you're brilliant. You're generous to a fault, completely giving of yourself, and you've saved the entirety of Ferelden from certain destruction. I'm not sure what more Zevran could want in a man."

Theron's eyes narrowed a bit, and he shot Alistair a rather curious gaze. "You're just being nice to make me feel better," he mock protested, before proceeding to bump his shoulder against Alistair's chest, laughing softly. This time, his eyes did lift a bit, though. "But, I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. Though, you shouldn't really be talking. You're the one who's attractive, witty, and has an entire kingdom under his command, remember?"

Alistair just laughed: the type of laugh that causes your chest to rise up and your head to roll back, and just streams from your lips like a tidal wave. Then, he grinned back at Theron, and he smirked. "Does that mean I get to order you around now? Because Maker knows, after all the bossiness I got from you during our trip, it's time I repay the favor."

The elf's eyes glowed with a happiness that temporarily washed away his fears, and he grinned impishly. "Only in your dreams, perhaps," Theron replied, sticking out his tongue.

Alistair gawked in response, and raised a single brow. "And how would you know anything about my dreams, huh? You're not a mage…haven't been spying on me in the Fade, have you?" the king asked. When Theron adamantly shook his head, he chuckled, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "No, I dream of much different things. Bossing you around, alas, isn't part of them."

Theron's expression changed to one of mock consternation. "Well, damn," he responded, pulling his tongue back into his mouth. He leaned into Alistair slightly, and he realized for the first time just how much warmth his friend's body put off. It was a comforting sensation, knowing that protectiveness was so ingrained in Alistair, that it erupted without him even being aware of it. It gave the elf a feeling of safety he had not known ever in his life, and it made his eyes close for a moment in thought.

"You do know that you can't go to sleep here on the floor, don't you?" the king asked, as he noticed what looked like tiredness washing over the elf's expression.

With a smirk, Theron pulled himself out of Alistair's grip, and up to his feet. "Yes, yes, I know," he said, smirking as he looked around the hallway, which was vacant at this hour of the night, except for the two of them. Then, as realization struck him, he laughed. "You know, I just realized…I don't have anywhere to sleep tonight. Zevran asked me to sleep elsewhere, and all the guest quarters are filled to the brim right now," the elf said, pursing his lips in annoyance.

"He threw you out of bed, did he?" Alistair asked, shock which Theron wasn't sure was real or fake covering his face. "Well, he really is taking this seriously, isn't he? I guess this is what you get for taking the whore out of the whorehouse." The words were out of Alistair's mouth before he realized what he said, and he involuntarily brought his fingers up to cover his mouth, shaking his head furiously. "I'm so sorry, Ther. That's not what I meant, and you know it. Please forgive me," the king said quickly.

Theron, however, only chuckled a little. It was the truth. In all his time, wanting to spend his life with Zevran, learning about the assassin's past, his time in the Crows, his life in Antiva City, he truly was fighting against everything Zevran's life had taught him. For a moment, Theron couldn't help but wonder if it was a losing battle. He wondered if Zevran could ever really care about him beyond just physical gratification, despite their current difficulties.

"It's only the truth," he said softly. Alistair's eyes went wide, surprised to hear his friend seemingly berate his partner. "Maybe it's not meant to be. I mean…let's face facts…Zevran's only upset because he didn't hear it from me. He said himself, he's not upset I slept with someone else. He…he doesn't want that commitment from me. Maybe he expects that I don't want it from him, either?"

Alistair could only shake his head. "If that's what he thinks, he doesn't know you at all, Theron. You are the type of person who loves deeply, unconditionally, and completely. You're the type who wants to fall in love, and dreams of spending your life with one other person. At least, romantically, anyway…," he said, smirking a bit and hoping he got his point across.

Theron nodded. "You're right. That is what I want. But does he?"

Alistair could only shrug. "I don't know him that well. You do. You'd be better to answer that than me."

"That's what worries me," the elf responded, shrugging. "I don't know, even now."

"Perhaps you should ask him, then?" the king suggested quietly.

The dark-haired male nodded. "I think I will…but not now. I need to find somewhere to sleep for the night," he said, quirking up one side of his mouth in mild annoyance.

"Come on," Alistair said, helping Theron to his feet and keeping that arm around his shoulder, as they began walking down the hallway. "I am sure we can find you somewhere to sleep. If nothing else, I'll give you my bed."

"Oh, Alistair, I never knew. All this time, and you're just now telling me you want me in your bed?" Theron joked. The expression of alarm on Alistair's face was priceless, and the elf broke out laughing, a sound loud enough to echo through the hallways of the quiet castle.

"That…that is NOT what I meant!" the king protested, causing Theron to only laugh all the more as they walked down the hall together, chuckling and joking back and forth as they went to find somewhere for the elf to sleep for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

The night had been a restless one for Theron. Despite the joking of Alistair's words, he had indeed ended up sleeping in the king's room – on a cot which Alistair had brought in for him. The castle was full to bursting with dignitaries and nobles from all across the continent, hoping to pay their respects to both the Grey Warden and to earn favor with the new king. The elf was quickly learning how much he disliked politics, as he slowly wandered down from his room toward the dining hall for breakfast, still clad in nothing but a cotton shirt to cover him to the waist, and a pair of short-cut cotton pants that clung low on his hips.

When he finally walked into the hall, however, he was rather embarrassed to realize that everyone was already there, and most of them were fully dressed. With a slight crimson tinge to his cheeks, the dark-haired male walked over to a seat near Wynne, dropping into it silently. "I see everyone decided to get up early today," he explained, his voice still slightly foggy with sleep.

"Actually," piped in Leliana, though several of his companions looked as though they were ready to correct him, "we're all just on time. You're the one who's late," she teased, shooting Theron a playful expression and winking at him.

The elf let out a groan, and the memories of his conversation with Zevran the night before suddenly came washing over him, before he could respond. He turned and looked over the table; frowning a bit as he realized Zev was not among his friends. Before he could ask, however, Alistair spoke up.

"We don't know," Alistair said softly, his lips pressing together almost enough to turn them white from the pressure. "He's not come downstairs at all as of yet, and I wasn't comfortable sending anyone up to check on him, considering the circumstances."

Theron turned to his friend with a small bit of shock on his face. "Nobody's checked on him? What if he decided to leave the palace altogether?" the elf asked, more desperation in his voice than he would have normally wanted.

"I don't think that's the case, child," Wynne said, her voice motherly and comforting, though at that particular moment, it only seemed to piss Theron off more. It sounded patronizing, and he didn't like it. "Zevran was upset, but he's always kept his promise to serve you until you release him. I don't think that he would start violating it now, do you?"

That stupid oath: it angered Theron to think about it, because while it was what had caused him to spare Zevran's life, it had hung over their entire relationship like a heavy cloud. It made Theron constantly wonder if it was the only reason Zevran was still present in his life, when he could just as easily disappear into the Ferelden wilderness, never to be seen again. Hearing Wynne remind him of it yet again caused a soft growl of frustration to slip from his throat.

"Now now, Ther," Alistair said, his voice full of mock comforting, "no need to go feral on Wynne for trying to be helpful. Besides, we all know that Zev follows you around almost as loyally as that dog of yours."

Though he was tempted to snap at Alistair, the words, however sarcastic, had a ring of truth, and he could do nothing but shrug in response. Without another word, he slowly began eating, his mind rolling constantly over everything that had gone on in the last 24 hours, thinking about Zevran and, to his own surprise, thinking about Alistair as well. He'd always known Alistair was very protective of him, of the entire group in fact, but he kept thinking about Alistair comforting him on the hallway floor the night before, and he found himself drawing more strength from that closeness than he ever had in the past.

Before he could really start examining that feeling more, however, his self-reverie was interrupted by Leliana's voice, the volume of which she seemed to be raising intentionally to get everyone at the table's attention. "Good morning, Zevran," she said, clearing her throat.

"Oh, you're so subtle," Alistair quipped, causing Leliana to turn a brilliant shade of red in the cheeks.

Theron lifted his head, and when he met Zevran's eyes, he knew something was seriously wrong. Not only was the assassin fully dressed, he was carrying a small pack with him. With a gulp of nervousness, the darker-haired elf gazed at his lover, trying to figure out what to make of his appearance. "Are you alright, love?" he asked, his voice choked slightly with concern.

"Of course, I am fine," Zevran said, slipping on the bench on the opposite side of the table from Theron, letting his pack rest on the bench beside him, as he bumped against Leliana reaching for some food.

When Zev continued to remain silent, except for the sounds of collecting food to put on his plate from the offerings on the table, Theron got angrier with every moment. He felt hurt that Zev wasn't saying anything to him, and in his own mind, that anger snowballed every second. Just as he was about to burst and contemplated screaming at his lover, however, Alistair spoke yet again.

"So where are you heading out to today, my friend?" the king said, in a voice that sounded far more friendly than Theron had ever heard between the two before. He turned and shot Alistair a curious look, to which the sandy-haired man simply shrugged.

Zevran chuckled a bit, delicately chewing the food in his mouth and swallowing before he spoke. "I decided that today I wanted to spend some time out in the city of Denerim. We never really got a chance to enjoy it, when we were traveling. I also want to see what the Alienage is like. Nobody will be living there any more, thanks to the new Dales, but I find myself wondering what it was like."

Theron's jaw dropped in shock, and he sputtered audibly, causing most at the table to shoot him a rather wary glance. He snapped his jaw shut with an audible click of his teeth, dropping his head and focusing his attention entirely on his meal. Zevran was not an introspective person, generally speaking, and for some reason the taller elf could not imagine his lover doing anything that he had just proclaimed.

"Perhaps we should make a day of it, then? You, myself and Theron? He needs to see how the Alienage is going to be redesigned with more housing, since that part of the city borders the river and will need special protection, and I also have been meaning to check on its status," Alistair suggested, his voice helpful with a twinge of sympathy for his fellow Grey Warden.

Zevran's glance shifted between Theron and Alistair for several seconds, but there wasn't a single flash of emotion on his normally expressive features. Finally, he dropped his head to return to his food, shaking it just slightly. "No, thank you, but I appreciate the offer. I'd like to explore on my own for a bit."

The finality of the words and their tone made it clear there was no further point in discussing it, and the remainder of breakfast was relatively silent, except for the occasional sound of Oghren inhaling his food after he had joined them several minutes later. As soon as the meal was finished, Zevran was up and disappeared from the table first, before anyone could even say goodbye to him.

"I wonder if he'll be back," Oghren said, saying the words that were on everyone's mind. Oghren, however, was the only one who lacked the tact of the others, and actually said them aloud.

The expression of raw anger on Theron's face at those words, blended with hurt which furrowed his brows and made his eyes glisten with emotion, could have melted the coldest ice if given the opportunity. He slammed himself upward, nearly knocking over the bench on which he sat as he slammed his fist on the table. This got everyone's attention, and they all looked at him, expecting him to blow. However, they were disappointed.

With a terse nod toward Alistair, the elven Warden muttered under his breath. "I'm going to get dressed," he stated, the sounds muffled by his clenched teeth. Without another sound, he spun around and moved from the room rapidly, heading in the general direction of the stairs.

"Nice going," Alistair muttered, shooting Oghren an annoyed gaze. "You do realize the two of them are at odds at the moment, don't you?"

Wynne spoke up before Oghren could answer. "They're both extremely sensitive right now, and with the way Zevran was acting, he may very well have just left for good. That was not the right thing to say," she scolded the dwarf, her voice steady and firm.

Leliana chimed in as well, her expression still exhibiting some of the signs of surprise at Oghren's ability to say the most careless things. "That was heartless, Oghren, even for you. Theron is afraid of losing Zev and you just…just..," she cut herself off, not even sure how to finish the statement, her surprise was that great.

"Well how was I supposed to know?!" Oghren grumbled, still eating and taking a swig of the drink – nobody asked what it was – that was just behind his plate on the table. "Nobody tells me anything."

Wynne, Alistair and Leliana shared a glance of commiseration over Oghren's tactlessness and Theron and Zevran's current predicament, before returning to their meals as well. The discussion ceased entirely, as they all seemed to be contemplating the future of their Grey Warden and his partner or, more precisely, if there was any future at all.

Eventually, breakfast was over, and everyone said their goodbyes to one another, before parting company. Whenever they were all in the castle together, it was tradition that they eat at least one meal together, and it was usually breakfast, especially since their respective assignments tended to move them all across the city and beyond during the day.

Alistair left the table, however, with a mission that day. He hadn't been dishonest with Zev – he did need to visit the Alienage to see exactly how the changes there were progressing – but he felt that need took second fiddle to the need to comfort his friend. His protective nature was in overdrive as, clad in his royal attire, he strode up the stairs, taking them two at a time, to try to find Theron in his quarters.

When he opened the door to the room Zevran and Theron were sharing, however, he was shocked by what he saw. Theron was curled up on the floor near the bed, his face buried in his hands, his cheeks soaked with tears, a crumpled piece of paper sitting on the floor by his feet. Instinct took over, and in only a moment Alistair was on his knees at Theron's side, pulling the other Warden into his chest. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Theron's body was too weak with emotion to fight Alistair's comforting arms around him, and he actually leaned into the touch a little. He motioned at the paper on the floor, but Alistair was too focused on his friend to even bother to read it. "He is taking some time to think about things…he's not coming back…," the elf called out, his voice smaller and quieter than Alistair had ever heard it. It wrenched the king's heart to hear such agony in his companion's voice.

"I'm sorry, Ther…," Alistair said softly, his own voice dropping instinctively, as he did his best to sound soothing. He used his fingertips to stroke alone Theron's spine, trying to comfort him. 'This is not what I'm good at. I don't know how to do this,' Alistair couldn't help thinking to himself, as possibilities rolled through his mind at a mile a minute. It was the truth. Alistair was good at being protective, but comforting them was not something that he was normally prepared to do.

"I should have told him myself," Theron said, his voice still choked, though he inhaled deeply with a slight snort, clearing his throat. He wiped his eyes with his hands, finally lifting his head to look up into Alistair's eyes. With a cold, detached laugh, he frowned at his friend. "I am sorry I kept this from you, and from him, and from everyone else."

The king could only shake his head, reaching up to run his fingers through the elf's dark brown hair consolingly. "You have nothing to apologize for. I told you, I am glad you're still with us. I want you to be here with us," Alistair whispered.

The elf smiled, but it was a fake smile, obviously forced. "That makes two of us," he said, his voice distinctly lacking emotion from a moment before. Theron had done his best to keep his emotions out of his life as he had been dealing with the darkspawn threat, and the Archdemon, but now that there was no immediate threat to his existence, he was beginning to be forced to deal with everything he'd been suppressing during that time. It was all coming at him like a huge thunderstorm, and his heart weighed heavily as it tried to fight off the conflicting feelings within him.

There was a comfortable silence, after those words. Alistair just held Theron for several long moments, not even bothering to read the note. He could imagine what it said, and he felt it was too personal for him to try to read without permission.

However, the silence did not last long. Both Theron and Alistair looked at one another with alarm as the sound of several armor-clad people shuffling up the stairs at a rapid pace came to their attention. They were in the process of pulling away from one another when Wynne and Leliana, flanked by a group of four soldiers, nearly tore the hinges from the door as they burst into the room.

Wynne and Leliana stopped, Wynne's eyes narrowing and Leliana's jaw once again opening with a look of shock which matched her wide eyes, as they saw the two men breaking their embrace. There was a momentary abashed expression on both men's faces, before Wynne spoke with a sense of urgency anyone had rarely heard from her. "You both need to come outside, right now. Please, hurry."

"What is it?" Alistair asked, immediately jumping to his feet. He still held Theron's hand, helping his friend to stand, and he didn't pay attention as he snaked his arm around the elf's waist, pulling him into a protective hug.

Wynne shook her head. "There's no time to explain. Get dressed, both of you, now!" she said. Without another word, she and the four soldiers turned and walked away from the room. "Meet me in the courtyard outside the palace gates," she called as she left.

Leliana stood in the door a moment longer, looking over the two men. She noticed how Alistair was holding his fellow Grey Warden, and her eyes glistened with untold emotions. She blushed as they noticed her staring, and smiled at them. "Come on, hurry. Get your armor on and let's go."

Before either of the two men could ask for clarification, she disappeared as quickly as she'd come. They looked at one another, shrugged and separated. "Thank you, Alistair," the elf whispered, smiling up at his friend, before turning toward the armoire on the wall where his armor was kept.

"You're welcome, Ther," Alistair whispered, heading rapidly for the door. "I will meet you outside. Maker only knows what the hell is going on out there: probably Oghren getting drunk and fondling one of the guards." Though there was humor in the words, there was an undercurrent of concern in Alistair's voice. They both knew that something so trivial would not cause such concern in Wynne and Leliana.

"I hope you're right," Theron said, as he tugged his armor from the cabinet, beginning to dress. He knew Alistair was wrong: they both did. But after all they had been through in the last months, to save Ferelden; they were both clinging to hope that the peace they'd fought so hard for wouldn't disappear as quickly as it had come.

Alistair disappeared from the door, heading to his own quarters to prepare for whatever might be waiting for them outside the castle.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

As Theron left his room, clad in light armor with his bow and quiver strapped across his back, he found himself shocked by just how many people were bustling about the hallways of Ferelden's royal palace. It seemed every noble and every servant had been woken from their slumber, and was now out and about, in various states of preparedness for whatever was awaiting them outside the castle walls. Wynne had been vague, which was unlike her, and it concerned him greatly.

His armor clicked together, the threads of leather across the front of his legs brushing over his skin as his light weight allowed him to swiftly shift and rock his body to move between those who were standing in his way. When he finally made it to the entry corridor, he found almost all of his companions there. Morrigan was missing, of course, gone for good he hoped. Sten was also absent, which was surprising. He wouldn't have expected the qunari to be missing from…whatever it was they were about to face.

"I'm glad you're here," Alistair said, smiling as soon as Theron was within range to hear him. The elf smiled back at his friend as he reached up to pull his hair back behind his ears, keeping it out of his face. His deep crimson eyes glowed a little, before concern etched itself in his features.

"So what the hell is going on, Wynne?" Oghren asked. His appearance made it clear that he had been woken from yet another hangover, probably keeled over on his floor instead of atop his bed proper. Theron would have laughed, were the lines creasing Wynne's cheeks and eyes not so gaunt looking, the seriousness of whatever was outside quelling any humor.

Wynne shook her head, as she pulled open the door to the castle just a crack, to peak outside. She slammed it shut again, spinning around to rest her back against it, and she met Alistair's eyes. "You are not going to like this, Alistair," she said, her voice firm, but with an undercurrent of compassion.

"Certainly it's not the darkspawn again?" Theron asked. Though Wynne kept her eyes on Alistair, the elf did notice Leliana shaking her head slightly, almost imperceptibly. So, at least, there was no threat of another Blight. It would have been unusual for another to occur so quickly after they had just stifled the most recent one.

Alistair's patience was wearing thin. He wasn't sure what was outside, but Wynne's tone and all the secrecy was driving him mad. He'd worked hard to help his fellow Grey Warden build trust between these people during their travels together, and this seemed counter to all that effort. "Let's see it, whatever it is, then," he said firmly, resolute in his tone. He reached for the door handle, pulling it open gently enough so that Wynne could move out of his way.

As soon as the doors to the castle fell open, exposing the collected group to what awaited them in the courtyard, several jaws dropped – namely, Theron's and Alistair's. They both gawked at what they saw before them, and a resigned sense of realization hit them a moment later. "I can't believe it…," Theron said aloud, immediately reaching behind him to curl his fingers tightly around the bow clung to his back.

"I told you I would not allow this to end with me in the Tower, Alistair," said the deposed Queen of Ferelden, Anora. She had forsaken her normal dress robes, which the king had allowed her to keep even in her captivity, and was clad in the deepest gold of armor – made by the royal armorers. She stood, raised upon an artificial dais that was being supported by a group of soldiers. While neither of the two men recognized any of the faces among those soldiers, they wore the uniform of the royal guard – the guard that was supposed to be responsible for Alistair's protection.

Despite the impressive presence that the squadron of soldiers surrounding and beneath the Queen put on, what was even more frightening to everyone was the group of citizens, common citizens and nobles alike, who were standing behind the soldiers. Some carried torches; others had axes or blunt weapons. It wasn't a large group of citizens, by comparative means – but with Alistair's forces spread over the city as well as the neighboring countryside, helping to repair the damage from the darkspawn, it was a combined force larger than what he had stationed at the Palace.

Without thinking, Theron immediately took two steps forward, and sidestepped to his right, making sure to put himself halfway in front of Alistair. While he didn't block the king's view, he had to be sure to put himself in a position that would protect Alistair. He hadn't endured such suffering during the fight against the darkspawn and slept with that wretched witch just to watch his friend die at the hands of a selfish, power-crazed usurper.

Theron's thoughts, however, were interrupted by the sound of Anora's voice, which seemed to be booming over the entire square, far louder than it normally would. It was then that he noticed a group of five mages – marked with robes signaling them as Senior Enchanters – standing behind her. One's staff was lifted, aimed at Anora. He was obviously amplifying her voice, and the effect rattled the mind of anyone listening – it was almost deafening in its volume.

"You are not the proper leader of the people of Ferelden, Alistair," she began; though her movements across the small dais made it clear she was addressing her soldiers and the people, more than the king himself. "You may have saved us from the darkspawn, but to do so you had to kill a hero of this nation, and my father. You do not have the experience necessary to lead these people, and they will have you no longer!" she said, her tone passionate with a twinge of bitterness.

Alistair immediately took a step forward, but Theron threw out his right arm to stop the king from advancing beyond him. With a slightly desperate look, Theron turned to his friend, whispering softly. "Please let me keep you safe," the elf requested.

The king nodded, and stopped pressing against the arm that restrained him. He reached up with his left hand, placing it on Theron's left shoulder, a sign of unity between the two of them, as he responded to Anora's words, his voice hardly as loud as hers, but his shouts more than enough to be heard over the silent assembled. "You're right, Anora. I am not an experienced leader. I was never meant to be king. But I know what the people need. They need safety, they need security, and they need freedom. They need to know that their leader is fighting for them, and not out of lust for power."

While Alistair's words were powerful, and they spoke to Theron and his friends directly, there were loud murmurs among those assembled which made it clear that the majority couldn't believe that, even if he was right, Alistair wasn't the one who could provide those things in their minds.

"Yes, they need those things as well. But who are you to provide them!?" Anora said, bitterness seeping into her tone as she finally turned to glare directly at the king. "You know nothing but battle and bloodshed, for that is all you have done since you were 10 years old. Bred to be a templar, and then further trained as a Grey Warden. You know nothing of government, of politics, of helping the people. Defense alone is not going to save the people of their suffering!"

The hair on the back of Theron's neck was heckling. Despite what was being said, the debate occurring before his very eyes, the presence that Anora brought with her made it clear her intent – she was going to take the castle, by force if necessary. He dropped his upper body backward, catching glances from Wynne, Leliana and Oghren, making sure that all three knew to be prepared for anything, wordlessly. His eyes wandered in search of his dog, but when he felt the warm, furred presence against his left leg, he simply reached down to stroke the canine – who was growling angrily in Anora's direction.

"So this is your solution, then, is it?" Alistair said firmly, extending his right arm outward to encompass the entire scene. "To come to the castle, in force? You obviously have connections among the nobles. Let there be a Landsmeet, and let us discuss this. Further violence is not going to help the people of Ferelden, Anora. You know that as I do."

Theron could feel the trembling in Alistair, the anger and frustration building up in his friend, and his chin dropped just slightly as he glared in Anora's direction. 'Alistair does not deserve this,' the elf thought, 'and neither do the Ferelden people. He's so caring, and kind…why can't she see that?' he questioned himself. However, Anora's words pulled him from his compassionate reverie.

"We know what happened at the last Landsmeet, Alistair," she yelled out, anger besmirching all the other emotions in her voice, "and there, you killed my father, the rightful Regent of this kingdom! I will not allow myself to be pulled into such trickery again. You will surrender the crown, now, or I will take it from you by force. I am what the people want, and what the people need!"

There was an audible growl, and for a moment, Theron wasn't sure whether it was from Alistair or the dog. He almost laughed, but Alistair's next words caused his entire body to seize up, preparing for a seemingly inevitable fight. "I will not allow you to question my authority in this way. Do it the right way, or leave here, never to return," the king said, every ounce of confidence that had become instilled in him over their journeys together filling his words.

"Then you will die, here, and I will retake what belongs to me," Anora responded, her tone almost curt.

As soon as the last word was finished, Theron immediately pulled his bow from his back, placing an arrow into position and firing toward Anora. The former Queen seemed to almost smirk at the elf, and it unnerved him.

Even as the arrow whistled through the air, entirely on target, she seemed unmoved. At the last moment, however, Theron watched with horror as the dais on which she stood suddenly seemed to collapse – in fact, it had a trap door built into it – and Anora fell through it to the ground, pulling her own weapons and avoiding the arrow meant to take her treacherous life.

By the time the surprise had left his features, Theron had nearly been shoved from the castle's front steps by the advancing of the king's guard from inside the castle, and the battle began in earnest now. The two sides ran at one another and the clash of metal and the clinking of armor as each body moved was uproarious, and the cries of battle began ringing in Theron's ears only a moment later.

Knowing that he could not fire safely while amassed in a wall of bodies, Theron looked above him, to an awning which extended across the top of the platform. With a firm leap, he grasped the edge of it with his fingers. He struggled a moment, eyes going wide as the sweat on his palms nearly caused him to lose his grip. He was able to recover, however, and pulled himself atop the roof, turning quickly to begin firing arrows at Anora's men.

The king, however, had a different objective. Clad in his extremely heavy armor, bearing the sword and shield of Ferelden, he immediately forced himself forward, slamming into the first two of Anora's men he encountered so hard that a sickening crunch could be heard as their bones shattered from the extreme speed of the impact.

With a deft shift of one foot backward, Alistair lifted his shield and slammed his sword forward in an underhanded movement, stabbing deep into the chest of the nearest of the invaders to his castle, causing a cry of agony which soon became choked and strangled as the soldier began to gag on his own blood.

Wynne, in her infinite wisdom, had kept herself back against the door frame leading to the inside of the palace. She braced herself against it, the heels of both feet dug firmly into the ground as her staff moved back and forth. She raised it high into the air, beckoning the power of the cold from the sky above, sending heavy chunks of ice reigning down up on castle gates.

The impact sounded like shattering glass as the ice hit the stone, but it had the desired result – the area between the castle gates and the street outside was blocked off entirely by the ice and snow, and it would take several minutes for those soldiers and citizens trapped outside to break through.

The dwarf of the group, however, had the same bluntness that Alistair had, immediately choosing to run into the fray. Oghren's pride in his heritage also resulted in an intimate knowledge of how to take advantage of his stature in combat. Rather than facing his foes head-on, he took his heavy axe in both hands, raising it above his head, and began running directly for the attacking group.

The blade proceeded to piece flesh and bone, cutting through the junction points of armor at the insides of the thighs, shredding through the skin of his enemies as he snuck almost without notice between the legs of his much taller opponents. The screams and wails of men who lost limbs or various other parts of their anatomy filled the entire square with an anguish that thickened the air as much as the smell of human blood that was beginning to overpower even the weakest sense of smell.

However, despite their skill in battle, the numbers of those defending versus those attacking could not be overlooked. Even as he watched his friends succeeding in taking out several each of the enemy, Theron's arrows seemed to have more and more targets all the time. In the absence of a direct path, many of Anora's men had chosen to simply crawl over the ice and snow, slipping and falling often, but some nonetheless made it across the obstruction. Theron shot at them as rapidly as he could, attempting to hold them behind the barricade, but they were digging through it as well. Alarm was written across the elf's face when finally a small hole was formed through the barricade, and men began squeezing through it one at a time.

"Wynne! The barricade!" Theron yelled, turning away from his targets to attempt to get the mage's attention. During the few seconds his head was turned to the side, however, the Grey Warden did not notice the archer who had finally found his footing atop the ice and snow. He didn't see the excellent shot that it gave the archer, almost comparable to his own, over the entire field of battle. But, worst of all, the elf did not notice that archer taking aim at him, and firing.

There was nothing that anybody could have done to have stopped what happened next. Theron finally had met eyes with Wynne, and was trying to tell her to reinforce the barricade even as she cast a bolt of lightning outward from her staff across the enemy, singing their skin and causing a foul stench to rise from the remains.

His wide-eyed awareness came only a moment latter, and Wynne mirrored his look of shock. There was just the slightest sound of whistling in his ear before the piercing agony of the arrow drove deep into the left side of his chest. He squinted as tears of pain immediately went to his eyes, and hit bit his tongue to the point of bleeding to stop himself from crying out.

The momentum of the arrow had another effect – it tossed Theron's balance off, which was already precarious atop the small piece of roofing. He fell backward, slamming his back into the surface of the roof, where the movement and speed he'd picked up carried him down the small incline, spilling him off over the edge of the platform and onto the stone below. Only the body of a fallen soldier – a loyal member of Alistair's guard – stopped his head from impacting the stone directly.

Whimpering in agony, Theron reached for the arrow that was now impaled in his chest. He tried to curl his fingers around it, but his vision was fogging and the muscles in his hands felt suddenly weaker.

"No, stop!" called Wynne as she moved close to him, almost forcibly retching his hand away from the arrow. "You may tear it across your heart, and then you will most certainly die," the healer said. Theron nodded, trying to shift his weight and failing miserably, tasting his own blood on his tongue and filling his mouth as he tried to move, but failed.

It was only the familiarity with one another that had allowed Alistair and Oghren both to pick up the sound of Wynne's scream above the steadily increasing din of the battle. They had both turned and watched in abject horror as their elven ally fell from the roof, landing on the stone below. Neither was close enough to see what Theron had landed on, or if he had survived, but both proceeded to bark orders at the guards still alive on their side – they were on opposite sides of the small courtyard, commanding their soldiers – while they retreated to find out if Theron was alright.

Alistair made it to the steps of the palace first, on which Theron lay, his chest armor a deep red, soaked and coated in the elf's blood. Emotions tore through the king, warred within him like the fiercest battle against the Archdemon, and he shook his head. "Theron…," he said, his voice bitter at seeing his friend hurt because of some wicked bitch's plot to take power.

The elf could only shake his head, trying to look compassionately up at his friend. "I'm not going to die. Stop it," Theron chided, trying to sound playful, though the effort caused him to cough up a small amount of blood, which stained his lips the same red as his armor.

"The castle is lost to us," Oghren said, his voice grave. "We haven't the men to defend such a place, Alistair. There are too many gone, to help the citizens. We need to retreat, or we will die."

"After I showed her mercy!" Alistair yelled, kneeling at Theron's side. Anger and a desire for revenge he'd never felt before threatened to tear his heart in two at the conflict. However, gazing into the elf's eyes, the king knew there was only one thing that he could do. He clutched at the elf's hand, squeezing it in his own. "We will get you out of here. Forget the palace, she can have it. I'm not losing you, after all you did to stay alive."

Before another word could be uttered, Wynne immediately went into action. She motioned to Oghren and Alistair, who proceeded to lift Theron's body as best they could without any support underneath him. The elf writhed and groaned, unable to hold back the sounds of suffering and pain. The crunching of Alistair's boots on the bones of the body that Theron had landed on caused a sweeping nausea to twist the elf's stomach, but he restrained himself. "Alistair…you are king…," Theron uttered.

Alistair was about to interject, just as he and Oghren got Theron's body inside the palace doors, but it was too late – he watched as Theron lost consciousness. "Wynne!" he cried out.

The mage came running over rapidly. She took one look at Theron, and squeezed Alistair's shoulder. "He is still breathing, and he will be fine if I can treat him, but we need to go," she protested, motioning for the men to move Theron to a nearby cart that had been dragged into the foyer for defensive purposes. The Grey Warden's motionless form was rested atop it as gently as was possible, as Wynne turned back to the door.

With a rapid shifting of her staff, the sound of cracking echoed throughout the hallway, and into the courtyard of battle beyond, as she forced the supports for the doorway to give in, breaking and snapping. It was only a matter of moments before the entire palace foyer collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing but a pile of rubble in its wake – but blocking the path into the palace in its entirety, separating them from the battle beyond.

"What about those men!?" Alistair called out. Even though his primary concern was Theron at this point, he couldn't allow his guard to be overwhelmed and taken by Anora's forces. It went against everything the king stood for.

Oghren took a step toward Alistair, raising his shield up to put it in the king's path. "You cannot and will not be able to help them. They swore their lives to protecting you, and today, they will give them honorably," the dwarf said. Though he hesitated for a moment, Alistair nodded, and backed down.

Wynne, however, had already begun casting spells over the fallen elf commander's form, sealing the wounds in his lip, tongue and the inside of his mouth to prevent him from choking on his own blood, as well as mending the wound around the arrow in his chest, causing it to close. It stopped the bleeding, but it was going to make the arrow that much harder to remove.

"Let's go. We will take the back exit out of the castle," Wynne said. Without a single word of complaint, Oghren and Alistair rapidly grabbed the guide bar for the cart, pulling it upright as gently as they could. They pulled it along quickly, down hallways filled with screaming servants who were doing their best to escape the chaos. The sound of pounding could be heard echoing through the halls – Anora's men were attempting to break through the artificial barrier the mage had constructed.

As they neared the castle's exit, Oghren's deep voice reverberated as he spoke, still guiding the cart bearing Theron. "Where are we going to go? We can't get out of the city unnoticed like this!" he asked, strategies already running through his mind at a mile a minute.

"Surely you don't think she's got guards all over the city already? She can't have more support than what we just saw out there?" Alistair protested loudly, pointing toward the way they had come. "She had enough guards to fill this castle to the brim."

Wynne hushed Alistair softly, her voice of reason soothing and soft, despite the two louder male voices with which she competed. "Come, Alistair. We must go to somewhere we can hide safely. Anora is not a stupid woman. She would know that we would attempt to leave, were we not able to win this battle. We will not be able to get out of the city, at least, not right away."

Alistair couldn't dispute the logic, as much as he desperately wanted to do so. "Very well. Where do we go, then?" he asked, bitter and angry that his friend was hurt, that he'd been attacked and was under threat yet again for his life, and worst of all that, when he'd finally decided that he did want to be king, after all the inner turmoil that possibility caused, now someone wanted to take it from him.

"The Alienage," the wizened mage spoke up, her tone flat. "It has been mostly vacated by the elves who were living there, who were heading for the new Dales. However, much of the destruction and death of the battle with the darkspawn has not yet been repaired. It has minimal guards, and nobody goes in there except for those cleaning the area for human habitation."

The king nodded. It was the only choice inside the city limits where they had any chance of staying low. With a nod, Oghren tugged open the exit door – which was just barely wide enough for the cart to get through. Thankfully, the chaos had emptied the streets on this side of the palace, and there was nobody to be seen, though the sounds of battle still raged from the other side of the building. "Let us go," Wynne said, motioning with a drop of her chin in the general direction of the Alienage.

With a last look back at the castle as he fled with his three friends, Alistair's mind swam with regret. Thoughts of how things might have been different, if he had killed Anora instead, or just let her take the throne. He quickly shoved them aside, as this was something he was used to doing. He had to do it often, with his regrets over Duncan's death. He turned back to follow Wynne, taking Theron's right hand as he moved briskly beside the cart, squeezing it in his own larger hands. "We will get you to safety, my friend. You will not die like this."

In all the chaos, nobody had noticed that Theron's beloved canine companion was not among them as they retreated into the shadows of Denerim, nor was Leliana. They were once again looking for safety in the presence of a violent storm.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

There were several close calls between the time that Alistair, Wynne, Oghren and Theron evacuated the castle, and their safe arrival at a small cottage inside the Alienage barely large enough to hold the four of them. Alistair especially was struggling because of his height, being significantly taller that the average elf. However, they'd avoided the patrols that were now stalking the city, and once inside the heavy wooden and brick walls, it had been almost easy traveling to their final hiding place.

As they had traveled through the Alienage itself, however, it was impossible for them not to notice its dire condition. Most of the homes had been burned during the darkspawn attack, and there were still corpses lying in piles on the streets. Insects and vermin were omnipresent, attempting to take their share of what spoils still remained and had yet to be cleaned up. The stench was enough to cause even Oghren to wince, and it sent a shiver down Wynne's spine with the horror.

When they finally did find that small cottage, buried in a corner of the Alienage as far from the city gate as possible, the door had been slammed in, and was resting in the middle of the living area. The outside wood frame and timbers that consisted of the structure's main exterior were blackened with the heat of fire, but looked far more stable than anything else in sight. After roughly forcing the door back into position to provide some coverage, Wynne had decided it would be safer if they all remained in a small, sealed back room of the home. Quarters were tight, but there was at least a bed for Theron to rest in, the arrow that had thrown him into the ground still exposed from his chest.

"Are you alright?" was Alistair's immediate question, a response to the loud, muffled groan that escaped Theron's throat as he was set on the bed as gently as possible. Wynne immediately moved to the bed's head, attempting to gingerly lift the elf's head to slip a small pillow beneath it, under his neck.

Theron nodded, his eyes fluttering slightly from the pain, wincing as the movement in his neck caused his shoulder and chest to tense around the arrow. "I'm going to be alright, Alistair," the Warden said, blinking furiously as he reached out to grab Alistair's upper arm. "You need to stop worrying so much."

Oghren chose that particular moment to intervene, shifting his weight to nearly insert himself between Alistair and Theron, jockeying for attention. "You even had me scared there for a second," the dwarf said, his voice thick with the sound of surprised concern.

It was at that moment that the smells of the Alienage, combined with the sight of the blood and gore still coating Oghren and Alistair's armor, overwhelmed Theron. The headiness caused by the taint of the metal from the arrowhead in his blood had weakened him, and he was forced to lean over the bed's edge and vomit. Alistair lowered his head, his brow furrowing sympathetically, as Wynne returned to the bedside with a cloth, somehow dampened, which she laid across the elf's forehead.

"You need to stop badgering him," she said, her tone full of scorn, "or I'm not going to be able to heal him properly." With this, she flicked her staff in the direction of the two looming males, forcing them back several inches, so she could sit on the bedside near Theron's waist. She looked down into his eyes with a compassionate gaze, the wrinkles on her face deepening with her own, unspoken concern. "There's going to be a lot of pain when I remove this arrow, Theron. I had to seal the wound around it to prevent you from bleeding to death on the way here."

The elf had heard Wynne's earlier warning, though it had echoed in his ear. Even now, the blood pounding in his head seemed so loud that it threatened to drown out her voice. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to will away the pain of his muscles clenching around the arrow's length once again. "Yes, alright," he muttered, his teeth clenched and voice tense as he tried to brace himself against the pain.

His efforts were half successful. The initial pull of Wynne's delicate fingers along the arrow allowed the remainder of the arrow's length to slip from him without much sensation at all. However, when the arrowhead itself finally pressed against the inside layer of skin, Theron whimpered, and when it was pulled free as quickly as Wynne could manage, Theron gasped and then released a blood-curdling scream of agony, arching upward off the couch so only his shoulders and his heels touched it, feeling the heated crimson of his blood beginning to seep heavily from the wound.

"Calm yourself," Wynne said, attempting to sound reassuring, though the blood that was rapidly coating the inside of Theron's light armor was more than she had expected. She lifted her staff hastily – a bit too hastily, as the back end of it smacked against the side of Alistair's head.

"Hey, watch it!" Alistair complained. Wynne shot him a warning look, to which he immediately looked chagrined, dropping his chin and turning away from her, only leaving one eye to watch her progress with Theron.

The mage's talents in healing, while stretched slightly by the nature of his injury, managed to work quickly. It took only a few minutes for her to be able to seal the outer layers of skin, and a moment's deep breath and heavy concentration allowed her to begin the process of mending the veins and capillaries that had been burst deep beneath the flesh, to prevent internal bleeding. It was a total about 10 minutes in the end, during which Alistair said nothing further, and Oghren only moved to the door of the small room, peaking through a crack in the wood near the frame, to watch for any potential observers.

When her work was finished, Wynne nodded succinctly, taking her staff and resting it against the wall near the headboard. "You should be very lucky nobody is around here," she said, attempting to sound lighter than she felt, "or we'd be surrounded by guards, with as loud as you screamed."

Alistair actually perked up visibly at this, grinning from ear to ear, his willingness to get in on the teasing apparent. "That's right, Theron," the king said, gazing down and watching his friend's eyes as he tried to appreciate his fellow Warden's misplaced humor, "If you'd have been much louder, the entire city would have heard you, and then we'd be in real trouble."

Theron tried to chuckle, but the sound made him gag on a lingering dribble of blood at the back of his throat. The coughing lasted for several long minutes, but finally subsided, and he collapsed back to the bed weakly. "That's nothing compared to how you screamed when that sloth demon at the Circle Tower sent a fireball up your ass," the elf teased back, his eyes only half open due to a sudden sense of exhaustion washing over him.

"You need to rest," Wynne interjected, before Alistair could retort, though the look on the king's face was one of obvious, if not slightly exaggerated, shock. "I am going to cast a spell to help you sleep." Before Theron could object, the elder mage was already well on her way to making sure that the elf slept soundly, and quietly for at least several hours.

As soon as Theron was asleep, however, she turned to Oghren. "I need you to find us supplies. We need wood, some tools to get the floor boards out of the way so we can start a fire, as well as something to eat…," she trailed off, contemplating what that 'something to eat' might have to be, considering their current state of affairs. "Whatever you can find that's edible."

The dwarf, completely opposite the mage, just shrugged. "Right," he said firmly, nodding before turning and slipping through the door quietly, though the sound of his armor clinking together and the axe strapped to his back slamming against it rang out for quite a distance. Wynne was tempted to hush him, but didn't have the opportunity before he had disappeared.

"As for you," the mage said, pulling herself to her feet and walking over toward the opposite edge of the room, leaning against the wall, her staff still in her hand. "I need you to get Theron out of his armor. All the heavy weight on his skin is just going to keep his skin taut and sweaty, which will make his wound worse."

Though the idea of undressing another male had never occurred to him, and indeed might have even been something he'd be teased for if anyone were around who didn't understand, Alistair didn't hesitate. His friend was in danger, and needed his help, and he would do whatever it took to guarantee Theron's survival. "Of course, Wynne," he said.

Wynne lifted her staff again, curling her left hand around it and extending it outward slightly, tilting it at a 60-degree angle from the floor. She moved the large, widened head of it in a small circle, chanting under her breath quietly. "I will keep his wound sealed while you work," she whispered softly, as her eyes fell heavily closed from concentration on her spell casting.

Alistair slipped to his knees at the side of the bed, and it was for the first time ever that he actually was forced to take a detailed look at Theron. The elf's body was stiff now, tight and clenched from his injury and the spells being cast to keep him firm. The king shook his head slightly, concern etched on his face like a stone tablet. The man felt his gaze drawn toward Theron's face, which seemed peaceful in sleep, despite everything that had happened. "We'll keep you safe, my friend," he whispered, reaching up and running his finger along Theron's forehead, wiping away some sweat and getting the elf's bangs out of his eyes. "I promise."

With those words, the king went to work. He leaned against the bed and set himself on one knee to prevent the armor he would be holding moments later from shifting his weight. He then slid his open palms down over Theron's chest and stomach, clad in light studded leather, until he found the small latches which secured the armor to Theron's belt to prevent shifting. With a heavy release of air from between pursed lips, Alistair pulled them open, and he slid his fingers underneath the armor, beginning to push it slowly upward.

Wynne's chanting changed tone slightly, and the upper part of Theron's body lifted almost imperceptibly, just enough for the armor to slide upward without obstruction. She also spelled the elf's arms to move as needed for the armor to slide off. However, Alistair didn't notice. The heat of Theron's skin against his fingertips caused a sudden quivering throughout his arms, something he had never expected. The sensation of that warmth and heat against his own palms as the ridges of Theron's stomach muscles rolled under his hands almost overwhelmed him.

'I've never touched anyone like this before,' Alistair said, the thought repeating in his mind over and over again. The momentary lapse of attention caused the king's digits to graze over Theron's nipples before passing over his chest. Alistair found himself almost marveling in the slight hardness of the nubs as he moved further upward, until the armor slipped off, leaving Theron bare from the waist up. The king barely paid attention as the armor was tossed aside, and almost without realization, Alistair's fingers turned to Theron's skin again. He stroked the tips of his fingers slowly up and down the elf's right side, feeling his chest rise and fall with his methodic breathing, and watching as his lowest rib became slightly exposed with each inhale.

The mage standing several feet away had opened her eyes by now, and was watching what was going on with a detached sense of amusement. 'I would have never thought…,' she imagined, her mind wondering whether this was simply Alistair's inexperience, or any sort of genuine attraction. While she was tempted immediately to interrupt what was going on, she couldn't. She, as well as any healer, knew that touch could be as restorative as the best of spells.

Alistair finally pulled himself to sit beside Theron, the hip of his own armor rubbing against the outside of Theron's left thigh. This caused a slight stirring in the elf, and the king released an involuntary whimper of compassion. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice almost inaudible, as his hands slid further down Theron's body, catching on the armor that clung to his hips. Enraptured by the sensations curling through seemingly every part of him, the man slowly began unfastening Theron's waist armor, pulling it down methodically. The metal pieces clanged together, but the sound of Alistair's blood rushing to his head drowned it out. When the armor finally was removed, Alistair could only sit there, beside his friend, gazing at him intently, watching him from head to toe, enthralled.

Theron, though asleep and unaware, began experiencing some sort of dream. Nobody could tell, of course, but it caused him to stir slightly in his sleep. The elf's body, now clad in nothing but a pair of soft fabric shorts, slung low on his hips from the friction against the leg armor as it was removed, began to turn onto his side. He winced in his sleep, emitting a gasp of air, but the sensation of a body beside him caused his frame to move in the only direction it could – his legs slowly curled around Alistair's back and his backside as he sat, and the elf's upper body shifted closer to his friend as well.

The first reaction that crossed the king's expression was surprise – he'd never expected to find himself this close to Theron, especially in this state of undress. However, despite the heavy armor he still worse, Alistair could feel the heat of the elf's body coming off him in waves. It caused a tremble down Alistair's spine, and inevitably, he reached out and began running his fingers slowly over Theron's right shoulder, squeezing it occasionally. His voice was soft, almost quiet. "You'll be alright, my friend. You're here, safe, with me," the man said, his eyes narrowing slightly as a sensation he couldn't place welled within his chest. He just sat there, for an amount of time that seemed like days and couldn't be, stroking Theron's bare shoulder, watching his muscle movements as he slept, wishing he could do more.

Wynne had stopped casting her spell as soon as the last armor had been removed, and despite her fear that Theron would be awoken, she couldn't bring herself to prevent the comfort the two men were sharing. Alistair's shoulders slumped and he visibly relaxed when touching Theron, and the elf too seemed to still again, his sleep once more dreamless and comfortable. She shook her head slightly, turning away. 'What a bad time for such things…,' she thought, before slipping out the door to stand guard until Oghren returned with the supplies they so desperately needed.


End file.
